


Caught

by endofadream



Category: Glee
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous prompted on Tumblr: What if there was a fic of Elliot walking in on klaine having sex in the loft when Blaine comes to visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught

Elliott has tried to remind himself— _several times_ —that it would be a very bad idea to crush on Kurt Hummel. Kurt is blunt, oftentimes to the point of being rude. Kurt demands that the spotlight always be on him and he doesn’t like sharing. Kurt is sometimes selfish. Kurt is engaged and Elliott can’t honestly really even see them dating.

Kurt is…no matter how many reasons Elliott comes up with, he can’t deny the fact that Kurt is _hot_. As in, maybe the hottest guy that Elliott has ever seen. Hot as in, even though Kurt has stated that he’s engaged and Elliott has seen pictures of this infamous fiancé, he still has troubles keeping his thoughts at night to guys who aren’t, well, _Kurt_. He’d seen the look he’d gotten at the Spotlight Diner, when he’d shown up without all of his usual theatricality. There had been surprise first on Kurt’s face, then intrigue, and then something else.

It’s getting better as the weeks go by, though, and Elliott has always been pretty adept at hiding how he really feels, and it’s not like this is his first tiny crush on someone he knows. It’s not like it’s impossible for him to control himself, either, and it’s definitely _not_ like Elliott’s in love with Kurt—they are still friends and bandmates, first and foremost. The novelty will wear off the more time they spend around each other, though Elliott is positive that it’s going to wear off even _sooner_ the more Kurt talks about Blaine.

Elliott checks his phone again as he turns the corner, Kurt’s building coming into view. He’d texted Kurt twenty minutes ago asking if it was okay if he’d stopped by; he’d accidentally left his scarf the other night when they’d been practicing and it’s one of his favorites. Kurt still hasn’t responded, and Elliott’s phone is dark when he pulls it from his pocket.

He stops, stares up at the building as his breath puffs out in front of him. He’s already here, and it’d be a waste to go back to his own apartment. Should he go in and grab the scarf, or should he wait? He has no idea if anyone is actually home, and he _had_ been given a key…

He takes a step forward, then stops. Would it be too weird to just show up? Well, that is, if anyone’s home. He hasn’t known them for long and he always feels a little uncomfortable sometimes with things like this.

The longer Elliott waits the quicker the bite of the cold becomes apparent, and finally he thinks _oh, fuck it_ and hurries into the building. It’s a little warmer, though not by much, and he draws his coat tighter around him as he reaches the loft’s door.

It's silent in the hallway, the sound of traffic outside muffled through the cold brick, and when Elliott reaches out and tries the door he finds it unlocked. A breath he hadn’t known he was holding escapes. Maybe Kurt’s phone is dead, or he’d left it somewhere in the loft and hadn’t gone to get it. There are a million reasons, and now that someone is home Elliott won’t feel as weird about getting his scarf and leaving—

Except, as soon as he opens the door he’s greeted with moaning.

And not from-a-speaker moaning. Real, actual, _physical_ moaning that gets louder as Elliott slides the door open a little further and freezes.

The couch is an easy sight from here, angled conveniently towards the door so that whoever walks in has full view of it. And on it, naked and sweaty with his back turned towards the door, is Kurt. And under him, letting out little _uh-uh-uh_ s and those loud, not-from-a-speaker moans—Elliott’s guessing; he’s seen photos but right now he’s not seeing much of _anything_ besides two legs hiked high around Kurt’s waist and two arms hooked underneath Kurt’s with nails digging into the flex of Kurt’s shoulder blades—is Blaine.

Elliott should leave. Shouldn’t he leave? He should turn around right now, slide the door shut as quietly and quickly as he can, and just _leave_. He should try and pretend like this didn’t happen, like he hasn’t seen what he has. He should turn in his resignation to the band, or _something_ , because there is no way he’s going to be able to look Kurt in the eyes after this. He just _shouldn’t be here right now_.

But when Elliott tries to leave, it’s like something inside of him says _no_. His feet seem stuck to the floor when he tries to turn around, only letting him move when he takes a few steps to the side and ducks out of sight. It obscures his vision, but only slightly, and he swallows hard, tries not to concentrate on how hard he’s gotten, how _quickly_ he had.

The old springs of the worn, secondhand couch squeak like they’re going to give out, but neither Kurt or Blaine pay any attention; Kurt bends to lick a line up Blaine’s neck and Blaine tosses his head back, groaning loudly as his nails dig deeper into Kurt’s skin. “ _Kurt_ —oh, fuck, Kurt,” Blaine gasps, his voice strained, his entire body taut, “oh my god.”

Elliott tries not to stare at the flex of Kurt’s ass, or the strong muscles of his smooth thighs. He doesn’t focus on the way they look wrapped up together or the way Kurt runs his hand down Blaine’s chest. He closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths. He feels hot all over, his skin stretched too-tight, like the hide of a drum. Kurt and Blaine’s breathless, love-saturated voices echo in his ears.

“That feel good, baby? You like that?’

“ _God_ —Kurt, you know I do. _Please_.”

“What do you want? You have to tell me.”

“ _Fuck me_. Fuck me with your big cock.”

Elliott bites back a whimper, opens his eyes and sees the look of pure pleasure on Blaine’s face as he tosses his head back, arches up and lets his body yield and bend to Kurt’s quick, unrelenting thrusts. He hadn’t even known that Blaine was supposed to be visiting. Shouldn’t he be in Ohio? Doesn’t he have school?

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” Kurt breathes, his voice husked and raspy. The slap of skin when his hips meet Blaine’s ass echoes in the empty loft, sharp and stinging, and Blaine moans, pushes back as much as the uncomfortable couch allows. “How much I’ve missed _you_.”

It’s so tender in comparison to the rough movement of their bodies. Blaine lets out a whine, the leg not pressed up against the couch falling open wide, and he untangles his arms to grab Kurt’s face in his hands. The kiss is deep, passionate, but there’s that same sweet, tender undertone to it in the way that Blaine brushes away a lock of Kurt’s sex-mussed hair and smiles.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he says, so quiet that Elliott almost misses it. “But we’re together now, okay? I love you.”

Kurt lets out a high, broken, beautiful sound, his body undulating as he drops down, presses close and rocks his hips until Blaine is almost sobbing and his nails are dug back into Kurt’s shoulders.

Elliott shifts. There’s something about their dynamic that he hadn’t expected, something so true and real that he’s not sure if he’s ever even seen it on another couple, much less in real life. It’s walking in on an intimate moment from both sides of the spectrum, when a couple is so in love that you feel like an intruder just being around them.

“Gonna come,” Blaine gasps. His nails dent Kurt’s skin, their chests sliding together as he arches up, groans. “Fuck, babe, c’mon, get me there.”

Kurt slides his hands up under Blaine’s back without a word, pushes him impossibly closer and fucks into him harder-harder-harder, the cushions groaning. Blaine’s head falls forward, rests in the crook of Kurt’s neck, and his voice, thin and strung, is muffled almost enough that it’s difficult for Elliott to hear what he’s saying.

“God, yeah, yeah, _right there_ oh fuck— _yes yes yes oh god, Kurt, oh fuck yes I love you I love you so much_ —”

Elliott bites his lip so hard the coppery tang of blood spurts over his tongue; he’s up and rushing for the door, Blaine’s long, broken moan echoing behind him as he comes, followed by Kurt’s short, quiet grunts, then his own muffled moan.

Elliott isn’t sure how he makes it out of the loft without being seen or heard. He doesn’t even remember sliding the door shut behind him. All he can remember is the way Kurt and Blaine had looked together, like two halves of a whole; the way they’d spoken, soft and tender with their voices desperate the rough, dirty actions of their bodies.

He leans back against the brick, closes his eyes and takes deep breaths as he wills his erection down. Inside the loft there’s the faint sound of voices, short peals of laughter. A few minutes later his phone vibrates in his pocket, and with shaking, fumbling fingers he pulls it free.

 **From Kurt (3:30PM):  
** _Oh hey, sorry I didn’t see this until now! Blaine’s visiting and I got caught up with him. I saw your scarf and left it on the kitchen table, so if you’re still in the area feel free to come and get it! If not, I’ll see you tomorrow night._

Elliott thinks, as he hears another peal of laughter again, that his scarf can wait until tomorrow.


End file.
